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I had gazed upon him while unfinished; he was ugly then, but when these muscles & joints were rendered capable of motion, it became a thing such as even dante could not have conceived.
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I found the following letter from my father: My dear Victor, William is dead! That sweet child, whose smiles delighted & warmed my heart, who was so gentle, yet so gay! Victor, he is murdered!
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As i said these words, I percieved in the gloom a figure which stole from behind a clump of trees near; I stood fixed gazing intently. It was the wretch, the filthy demon to whom I had given life.
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| William, dear angel! this is thy funeral, this is thy dirge! | |
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